


Brats

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Smut, Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High School AU.  Kirk's mother is stationed on Vulcan. Kirk goes to Spock for help with fancy Vulcan school, and Spock goes to Kirk for help with . . . biology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [windfallswest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/gifts).



> Bunnied by my dear [](http://windfallswest.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://windfallswest.livejournal.com/)**windfallswest** ages ago

**Title:** Brats  
 **Author:** htebazytook  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** Pairing: Kirk/Spock  
 **Time Frame:** Reboot  
 **Author's Notes:** Bunnied by my dear windfallswest ages ago  
 **Summary:** High School AU. Kirk's mother is stationed on Vulcan. Kirk goes to Spock for help with fancy Vulcan school, and Spock goes to Kirk for help with . . . biology.

 

"Error."

"Your _face_ is an error!"

". . . I am not programmed to respond in that area."

"Your mother isn't programmed to respond in that area, you fucking poser!"

This time the thing makes a severe sort of _brrrrreeeeeeeep_. 

"Oh shit that's like the third strike, right? Uggh fuck me . . ."

There goes that noise again. Kirk can't find it in himself to care, though. If swearing at the damn learning pod will get him an early day, then fine by him.

*

Normally a principal's office walk of shame was accompanied by high-fives and/or jealous looks. Here, Kirk was treated to the comments of the other students on his way down the hall:

"Savok," one of them says to the other. "How long has the Earth student been attending our academy?"

"In my estimation, approximately one hundred and twenty three days."

"And he still has not progressed from level seven?"

"Negative."

"Illogical."

"Highly illogical."

*

Kirk doesn't mind not having Vulcan friends, and he's definitely not looking for one, I mean, what was the point if his mom was just gonna get stationed somewhere new in another couple months or years or however long, not like she'd do something crazy like give him notice or a choice in the matter or anything.

Even Vulcan teenagers had cliques, apparently, which was actually kind of comforting in the face of all that fucking logic. Everyone seemed to have a definite place in the oh so subtle hierarchy. Kirk didn't fully understand it, but he got the impression it had a lot to do with lineage, or maybe what part of the planet you were from, or maybe some accent that Kirk was unaware of—he wouldn't be surprised if they judged one another based on math proficiency. 

And of course where there are cliques, there are outcasts. There's a kid sitting alone, not in the corner, but conspicuously in the center of the vault-ceiling'd dining hall at a table so large that it dwarfs him. Kirk makes beeline for one of the many unoccupied chairs at his table.

The Vulcan kid acknowledges his presence with the tiniest flick of the eyes, then returns to the data pad he'd been studying.

"The fuck is this stuff, anyway?" Kirk prods the pile of green on his tray. "Haven't you guys ever heard of chicken nuggets? You can't go wrong with deep fried frozen goodness."

The Vulcan considers this. "Ah, yes. In your culture, the routine slaughter and consumption of animals is commonplace."

"And delicious," Kirk agrees. "Hey, you want mine?"

Spock's data pad is apparently the best thing since food synthesizers.

Kirk samples his lunch, makes a face and pushes the tray away. "No, seriously, this is gonna go to waste. And that's like a deadly sin for you guys, I'll bet. You can have mine—I really don't mind. Or are you watching your figure?"

It's clear that the Vulcan sighs inwardly before addressing him. "You are the new Earth student Mr Kirk," he says gravely.

Kirk grins. "I see my reputation precedes me. And hey, since you already know my name, mind telling me yours?"

"I am Spock."

"Okaaay. Spock what?"

Spock says the rest of his name.

Kirk blinks for a good minute. "So we'll just leave it at 'Spock', then, shall we?"

Spock looks like he's been waiting for Kirk to get to the point from the moment he'd sat down.

"So uh, where are all the girls, anyway? There a Vulcan chick academy that we team up with for the school musical? Or, more importantly, the school dance? Eh?"

And _now_ Spock just looks at Kirk like he's crazy. It's something that happens with such frequently on this godforsaken planet that he's starting to wonder if they're on to something.

*

"Mr Kirk," Dean Vorik says, after Kirk mouths off at the pod again in record time. "We realize that you are unaccustomed to our teaching methods, and because extensive sessions with the learning pod are proving to be . . . a challenge, may I suggest that you seek out your fellow students for guidance? I believe the term is 'tutoring' in your culture."

Kirk laughs. "Listen, I don't know if you know this, but my fellow students aren't the friendliest bunch, so . . ."

"Then unfortunately we will have to send you back to level six."

Kirk stops laughing.

*

Kirk finds Spock at lunch, alone and foodless again. I mean, did he eat at all? Should Kirk be taking this cry for attention more seriously? 

"Spocko!" Kirk says, claps him on the back before sitting down. "How's your neurobiology?"

Spock shakes off Kirk's assault of familiarity with commendable grace, although his left eye might be twitching a little. "You are still on level seven?" He can't quite keep the disdain out of his voice.

"Yup, and I need a tutor. I thought to myself, who do I know that . . . well, really I just thought 'who do I know' and that basically amounts to you so, what do you say, buddy?"

"I am sure there is someone better qualified . . ."

"Oh cut the crap, what _else_ do you have to do?"

Spock allows a pause. Then, "Agreed. But there is not sufficient time during this lunch period."

"Okay okay, we'll work out the details later. Maybe I could come over to your place after school or like—?"

"No," Spock says quickly.

"Um. Okay then." Kirk really doesn't want to spend more time at home than he has to. "So where?"

*

Kirk glares at the directions he'd jotted down on a scrap of paper, wipes sweat out of his eyes and wonders why he hadn't changed into something more lightweight for the trek out of the city. The sun was nowhere near set, and he couldn’t breathe, and who the fuck knew what kind of wild Vulcan creatures were lurking in the rocks waiting to pounce the next time he stumbled. Vulcan dingos or something, ha. This fucking planet felt like Australia. They'd sent criminals there, hadn't they? Maybe this was his punishment for swearing at a fucking computer.

It must've been downright weird to grow up in a place like this with its grandiose views and amplified everything—rocks and heat and color. It was like if the Grand Canyon spanned an entire continent. How did you not develop a sense of adventure? It should come standard.

The lack of urban sprawl on Vulcan always struck Kirk as odd. It was just a super advanced center city and then, bam, empty desert. There wasn't any farmland, in the Terran sense, and Kirk missed that more than he'd anticipated, having grown up resenting essentially everything within sight. It was startling not to have green and growing things around—the same panicky feeling he'd had on the last planet his mom had been stationed on, with its overpowering smog that banished the sun. _That_ had been like living in some kind of nuclear winter, and the kids there talked about 'sun days' like they were snow days.

Kirk's futile sunglasses slip on sweat and he pushes them up in irritation. He could use a fucking snow day right now.

"You are late," is the first thing Spock says as Kirk stumbles feebly inside the cave, hanging onto a stalagmite for support and affecting a general air of sweaty, sweaty patheticness.

"A human is never late, Mr Spock," Kirk pants. "He arrives precisely when he means to."

"Which is, in this case, late." Is Spock laughing at him? He is _totally_ laughing at him.

Kirk's folding his sunglasses and hooking them on his shirt collar when he realizes: "What the fuck, you don't have sunglasses? Or at least a _hat_? It's like, 100 degrees out there."

"59 degrees," Spock corrects. "And Vulcans have developed an inner eyelid to protect against the sun's harmful rays." He tilts his head. "I am surprised you are not aware of this."

Kirk shrugs. "Too busy sucking at school to pick up on the local evolutionary traits, I guess. So!" He rubs his hands together, which produces a lovely sunscreen/sweat conglomerate and an equally lovely squelching sound. "About that. Tutor me up."

Spock nods. "Where in the program are—?"

"Hang on," Kirk says. Spock raises an eyebrow. "Are we even allowed to be all the way out here?" And Spock starts to look a bit shiftier. "Do your parents even know where you are?"

Spock's expression is the very picture of stoicism. "They are aware."

Kirk eyes him. He's pretty sure this is the Vulcan equivalent of running your parents' car into a telephone pole. Or off a cliff or whatever. "Right! Well, let's get to work, then, shall we?"

Spock gets to work. Kirk, on the other hand, pays more attention to Spock than the information he's attempting to convey. And Spock, for his part, doesn't appear to notice Kirk's noticing.

Spock is different from other Vulcans, which is weird because Vulcans all look basically the same—the same silly hair and the same silly robes. It could be because Spock isn't wearing the school uniform, now, but hm, it's more than that. There's an openness in his eyes that's at odds with his clipped tone and stiff bearing. And the way he'd stare Kirk down every so often to make sure he was getting his point across was like a dare.

Spock's hands are so graceful as they tap out equations on the data pad, long fingers like a musician's that were surely as agile as they were quietly strong . . .

I mean, Kirk was just horny. He was a growing boy after all, and when _was_ the last time he'd got laid? Alpha Majoris? He couldn't even remember her name. Rebecca or Ruth or something? It was something . . . 

Kirk didn't fool around with boys often, but when the opportunity presented itself, well, he wasn't about to back down from the challenge. And anyway Spock was challenging in other ways, too—that quiet veneer, that hot librarian vibe coupled with the idea of corrupting the innocent where it became a fun, sexy conquest.

So yeah, as obnoxiously emotionless as they were, there was still something intriguing about Vulcans. You wanted to ruffle their feathers, undermine them or scandalize them or do whatever it took to coax a non-stoic expression from those serious faces. 

Spock, from what little Kirk knew about him, clearly had some anger boiling beneath the surface that peeked out in his borderline bitchiness, those little moments where he had to stop and collect himself before speaking. 

There's an unexpected sheen of sweat at Spock's temple, marring his precisely cut hair a bit, and it makes Kirk say, "I thought Vulcans didn't sweat."

Spock starts, looks over at Kirk with a wonderfully unguarded expression before he collects himself. "Vulcan do not sweat because the blood flow cools—"

"That's not an answer," Kirk points out.

And Spock seems a little put out by this, as if he's normally able to deflect whatever comes his way if he can provide a detailed enough response. "I believe we have covered the necessary topics, Mr Kirk," Spock says, which is just flat out changing the subject, and he clearly thinks he can pull that off, too, as long as he speaks with confidence. "I trust you will find my instruction beneficial to your studies."

"But of _course_ , Mr Spock." Kirk sits back against the cave wall and stretches. They'd been sitting on the cool sandstone floor for at least an hour. It occurs to him that this custom of memorization followed by testing, followed by more memorization followed by even more testing, makes no sense objectively. Being outside for once, even if it was inside a lifeless alien cave, reminded Kirk of the bigness of nature. Nature didn't care what you scored on your tests or whether you understood trigonometry. Nature just _was_. Why did being sentient have to mean overcomplicating everything? "There's more to life than school, you know."

". . . Yes." Spock sounds confused.

"Oh, come on," Kirk says, looks over to where Spock is still hunched dutifully over his data pad. "Don't tell me you plan on staying in school for the rest of your life."

Spock opens his mouth—

"Don't answer that. I just meant: what do you want to do? Like, career-wise?"

"The Vulcan Science Academy is a prestigious institution." Always with the indirect answers.

"You sure you're not running for office?"

". . . Yes." So confused.

"Anyway it's not very original, is it? Vulcans attending the Vulcan Science Academy? It's kind of expected, really. I mean, don't you wanna do something that makes a difference, not just be a handily scientific pawn in the difference making?"

"I intend to assist wherever my abilities are most needed."

"Life isn't _all_ about being intelligent and obtaining knowledge and things." 

". . . No." He doesn't sound so sure.

"I mean, I know you guys have art and music here, like, I'm not stupid. I _am_ aware of your culture, no matter how fucking weird I may find it. It's just that . . . Okay. On Earth? We study culture. Not just from an historical perspective for the purpose of memorizing the facts of it. You Vulcans may have us beat when it comes to sheer fact-gathering, but on Earth we place a greater significance on interpretation . . . concepts, that sort of thing."

"Just because you have not yet progressed to the more cultural levels of the program does not mean that there are none."

Kirk shakes his head. "That's not what I mean. It isn't just the study of culture—it's the experience of it. You guys know so much, but you never _experience_ anything. I mean, aren't you even a little bit curious to know what you're missing?" 

"If by 'curious' you mean—"

"Oh come on, even Vulcans can be curious. It's not a pesky old _emotion_ , so chill out. And it's kind of the chief impulse when it comes to science, anyway . . ."

"The pursuit of knowledge is logical, and not borne out of an 'impulse'," Spock says, but he doesn't look terribly convinced, himself.

"I'm not just talking about school itself. It's the whole atmosphere _at_ school."

"An atmosphere of academia?"

Kirk ignores him. "What about sports? What about glee club?"

"Illogical," Spock says emphatically.

His trains of thought are starting to crisscross, at this point, but Kirk can't seem to stop himself. He's confident that he'll arrive at a purpose to his rant eventually. He'll force it into cohesion if he has to. "I mean, how can you grow up _really_ without making all those stupid high school mistakes? Sneaking out and drinking at a pathetic party and getting sick. The awkward experimentations that ensue. The lot."

"We are perfectly capable of experimentation, Mr Kirk." 

"No no, I mean, you know . . ." There is much potential for a flustered Vulcan of his very own, here. He's got to play this carefully. "Oh, come on, Spock, don't tell me you're a stranger to 'those dreams' . . . "

Yep, that's the definition of a blank expression.

" . . . What I mean to say is . . . certainly you've noticed that your body is changing. Now, there's no shame in it—it's perfectly natural—"

"I had no idea you were an expert in Vulcan physiology."

"Well, I'm a bit of an expert in _that_ aspect of physiology, if I do say so myself. And I hardly think your species makes a difference."

"I am a _Vulcan_ ," Spock says, affronted.

"I mean, there's no need to be embarrassed about it," Kirk smirks. "It happens to the birds and the bees . . ."

Spock opens his mouth—

"Never mind, never mind. Listen, sorry for going off on a tangent." He's really not—Spock has gone faintly green for a minute, there. "Thanks for the help."

Spock nods, folds his arms. "Certainly."

"I might, uh . . . need further instruction, though. Before the final exam, just saying."

"Let me help," Spock says.

Kirk laughs. "Why, Spock," he says lowly. "I didn't know you wanted to."

"I am afraid I do not fully understand human humor." Wait, there's 'Vulcan'' humor?

"My God, do they even _teach_ literature out here?"

"Level nine."

"Ugh, I'm so _close_ . . ."

*

"Computer, give information on the following name: Spock."

"Working . . ." The projections flicker around him, a flurry of stern Vulcan faces and lengthy credentials. "Accomplished. Your search yielded a high number of results. Please supply additional search criteria."

"Oh fu— _n_. Oh fun." If Kirk _had_ additional search criteria, he wouldn't need to _do_ a search, would he? "He's uh. Hm. Narrow search to Vulcans born after stardate 2225 who are currently enrolled in Syrran Academy."

It's kind of disconcerting how quickly the information pops up, but it doesn't surprise him. Vulcans probably found the idea of Big Brother too illogical to bear consideration. And they wouldn't dare do something undignified like _withhold information_.

So it turns out Spock's father is some fancy Federation ambassador, which means he's probably never around or at least is too busy talking about how important his job is to pay much attention to Spock. That was of course assuming that cold indifference _wasn't_ the norm when it came to Vulcan parenting.

And Spock is really a bit upper echelon, isn't he? Kirk struggles to follow the rapid influx of files. He had important ancestors. He lived in the craggy desert city's version of the Upper East Side. His family had huge tracts of land.

You know, maybe it wasn't that Spock was an outcast—maybe he was just too uppercrust to mingle with his plebian classmates or they were secretly (very, very, secretly) jealous or something.

God, there was a _lot_ here about Spock's father. Kirk's pod was clogging with information, trying in desperation to project awards and accolades above its walls. But what about Spock's mother? Sure, Vulcans were kind of weird when it came to women, but Kirk was pretty sure they still procreated just like everyone else. On the other hand he wouldn't put it past them to make babies via petri dish alone . . .

Ah, there she was! Amanda Grayson. _Lady Amanda_ , my gracious. Sounded weird for a Vulcan name, but then Kirk hadn't actually encountered many females here, so . . .

Oh yeah, and she was from Earth.

*

" _Shit_ , you're on level eleven aren't you? I can't fucking wait 'til I'm up that far, that is, if I can ever get past this f—"

"Pause program, " Spock says, then turns to him. "Mr Kirk. I strongly urge you to censor your . . . colloquialisms."

Kirk waves it off, makes himself comfortable at the top of the stairs leading down into Spock's learning pod. "You know, early Earth computers used to have software specifically designed for censorship, and _that_ sure as hell didn't last long."

"That was on _Earth_ ," Spock says disdainfully. His eyes, which are blacked out in the sharp shadows of the hall, narrow at Kirk. "That is not the prescribed academy uniform."

Kirk tilts has head. "Yeah huh. I just push the stupid collar down because, well. Not exactly the height of fashion, is it?"

Disembodied formulas swirl around Spock, and Kirk feels like they might represent his actual thought processes. "May I help you with something, Mr Kirk?"

Kirk shrugs. Spock only stands still with his hands behind his back and regards him. The darkness is doing strange things to his face, paler or sadder or something. "I was bored."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "I presume you have progressed from level seven?"

Kirk laughs. "Oh no, I haven't even logged in today." Maybe this utter lack of discipline worked with Vulcan kids because they were programmed for lameness, but for Kirk it meant a free pass to loiter around the captain of the football team's locker and bat his eyelashes. Or whatever this was. "I sure could do with some more tutoring, if you have the time."

Spock is about the answer—

Kirk quite enjoys interrupting his train of thought by sliding down the side of the pod, through a rambling equation and a map of the alpha quadrant, to get all up in Spock's personal space and say in his lowest possible voice, "I had fun, didn't you?"

But of course Spock makes like a Vulcan and does absolutely nothing, and dammit that really shouldn't spur Kirk on the way it does . . . 

"I just . . . " Kirk continues, getting as close as he dares. " . . . can't . . . get it out of my head." Licks his lips for good measure. "You know?"

". . . The exam?"

"The exam," Kirk nods.

Spock seems to make a decision. "I trust you will have no trouble finding the cave, this time?"

*

It's hard to concentrate on what Spock's saying when the joy of being outdoors beckons, no matter the heat or the sadly barren landscape, and even in the relative coolness of the cave the thin Vulcan air steals his breath.

Spock's hands are so graceful, sweeping over the information on the data pad at lightning speed, and the way he talks quieter to avoid the echo of the cave gives off this false sense of intimacy . . .

Okay, so Kirk's breathlessness might have less to do with atmosphere and more to do with unresolved sexual tension. There was only so much that could be cured by a long shower when your mom was banging on the door because oh my God _her hair_!

So Kirk gives up, pays little attention to Spock's actual words for the next however long. He instead zones out to fun little fantasies inspired by his hands or his voice or the shock of prettiness around his eyes. And therefore Kirk is deeply suspicious when Spock says, seemingly out of the blue:

". . . so I assume you will be able to assist me, as I still require additional instruction in this field, and you had stated that you are well versed in human physiology."

Spock's sudden focus on him is stupidly startling. "Uh. Yeah. Yeah, sure am." 

Kirk really does envy Vulcans' ability to stare way longer than is socially acceptable. "There is an issue. I have been experiencing . . . biological difficulties. However my peers are ill-equipped to understand."

"Because you're half-human?"

Spock blinks, but doesn't bother asking how Kirk knew. "Yes."

"Well, I dunno . . ." Kirk suddenly feels less horny and more compassionate. "It's just hormones. Your body changes. You start to have urges . . ."

"There are no urges," Spock says emphatically.

Kirk eyes him. "Quite honestly I'm surprised you _don't_ already know more about this."

"You are human, therefore you can most effectively educate me on the effects of human hormones."

"So wait, hold on—are you . . . you're . . . asking me to, uh, teach you?"

Spock is unperturbed. "I am not as knowledgeable in this area as you are—asking for your input is the most logical course of action."

"Huh. Right. So, what was the plan if I hadn't just happened along?"

Spock stares, skips right on ahead: "I believe it is customary to begin with a human kiss."

" 'Human' kiss?"

"This."

Spock just leans in to press his lips to Kirk's firmly, and amazingly dispassionately. Kirk laughs at that, which upsets the kiss. Is about to say something witty or sexy or something but then his mind catches up with the radiant proximity of Spock and his mouth's gone suddenly dry.

"So," Kirk says, clears his throat. "This is happening, huh?"

"So it would seem," Spock says, reaching out tentatively to touch the back of Kirk's hand.

Kirk laughs in surprise. The sudden contact is like a wake up call, and it shivers through his nervous system deliciously. "Well, that's a start . . ." He takes Spock's hand in his to pull them closer, can practically taste Spock's rapid inhales and exhales even before he kisses him.

Spock hastens to kiss back, presses his lips to Kirk's so hard that Kirk can't even move his own.

Kirk turns his head to the side to escape, Spock's seeking mouth landing wetly by his ear and sending another shiver down Kirk's spine. "Not so hard," he says. "It's a _kiss_ , not combat."

Spock seems irritated. "As I have already explained at length, I am inexperienced this area."

"Ugh, chill out," Kirk says, turns Spock's face back to his to suck at his lower lip because, I mean, it was asking for it. "Just relax. Just let me."

Spock doesn't press back this time. In fact he does little more than sit there passively while Kirk attempts to coax the futile mash of his mouth against Spock's into a legitimate kiss. Kirk sighs. This is decidedly not sexy. "Okay, Spock? You have to do more than that. Just . . . just copy me. Study me. Aren't Vulcans supposed to be good at that?" 

Kirk grins at the flash of annoyance in Spock's eyes before the next kiss, pleased to have successfully egged him on. He is even more pleased that Spock does indeed seem to have been paying attention, feather-light nudge of lips against Kirk's, taking and yielding, Spock's hand still tangled up in his.

Kirk is breathless with the restraint of it, heart hammering and his skin beginning to tingle with want. "Spock," he mumbles. "Open your mouth."

At first Spock is dubious, but it doesn't take very much of Kirk's tongue trying insinuating itself past his lips before he acquiesces. The kiss spirals from there, from conscientious to hotly impulsive. Kirk has to shut his eyes tightly against the riptide of desire that threatens to overtake him. He'd missed the thrill of it, and finding something thrilling to do on Vulcan was no small feat.

The cave echoes with wet kissing-sounds and soft kissing-moans and Kirk is becoming addicted. It's not that Kirk's never kissed another guy before, it's that he's never kissed a Vulcan, never _Spock_ —the desert heat and the coiled strength, the surprising softness of lips and the taste and smell of him.

Spock kisses him harder, harder, so that it's making Kirk's whole body have to move to respond. Kisses him until he's pinned Kirk to the cave floor, and Kirk nearly sneezes in wake of the little cloud of dust that rises. 

"You're, ah, you're a fast learner, Spock," Kirk manages, but his heart is racing. 

Spock gives him a look that Kirk has identifies as 'duh', then goes back to kissing him, slow but definite. Kirk licks along Spock's bottom lip some more before slipping his tongue into his mouth. Spock returns the favor, and Kirk finds it increasingly difficult to think with Spock's tongue running along his like that, with Spock's hips suddenly aligned with his and with Kirk unable to stop himself from arcing up into the restriction of it.

"Mr Kirk," Spock says, going for formal but landing somewhere in the vicinity of wanton. "You are having a . . . reaction."

"Yeah I'm aware of that, actually, and uh, _actually_ . . ." And he rolls his hips up again even less subtly. "So're you."

"Perhaps it would be appropriate to end today's lesson here," Spock says, but he hasn't moved.

"But Spock," Kirk breathes. "What kind of tutor would I be if I didn't make sure you got the most _thorough_ —" Kisses his neck. "—and _personalized_ —" Runs his hands hungrily up Spock's heaving chest. "—education?" Leans in to ki—

Spock scrambles off of him, stands up and dusts himself off and straightens his shirt curtly. "Although I appreciate your efforts, Mr Kirk, this information will be sufficient for today."

"Right." Kirk sits up, takes a deep breath. "So . . . what about tomorrow?"

*

Kirk is minding his own business when:

"This is the section of the library reserved for what I believe you would call 'children's books'," says an efficient, sudden voice from behind him. "Your apparent level of reading comprehension may explain your struggle to progress."

Once Kirk's successfully averted a heart attack after being snuck up on, he turns to face Spock. "It's the quietest—well, the emptiest spot in the library. And you do have a number of Earth classics here."

"Hm. Is there a logical reason why you wish to be alone?"

"Logical? Oh, never, Spock, let's not get carried away. I'm just a bit of a loner."

Spock frowns. "I am not familiar with that classification."

Kirk can't stop a grin. "Always so scientific with you. But no, listen, we humans do thrive on social interaction, still there are times when one simply wishes to be alone, you see. It's peaceful." He peers at Spock. "Surely _you_ must understand this." Kirk has never seen Spock in the company of, well, anyone.

Spock nods. "I find study to be peaceful, and I find an environment that encourages focus on study without distractions to be desirable."

"So you feel me," Kirk translates.

Spock moves closer—behind Kirk, which sends a primal shiver up his spine, Kirk's hand lingering on the back of his chair put in quick proximity to Spock's body and Kirk wonders what would happen if he were to reach out and . . . 

"Lewis Carroll," Spock interrupts. "A writer from 19th century Earth, primarily known for the classic children's fantasy novel, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."

Kirk's eyebrows climb. "You . . . seem quite familiar."

"My mo—yes, I am." 

Kirk eyes him so intently that Spock seems compelled to speak again:

"This is a book of nostalgic value to you, from your childhood?"

Kirk snorts. "My par—my mother usually had better things to do than read to us. And anyway I learned to read pretty fast, so it's not like I needed her to help. "

Spock watches him, thinks. "Why did she bring you to Vulcan?"

"Fuck if I know . . ."

"You are becoming emotional."

Kirk laughs. "I'm a human, you know—we do have emotions. Better watch out you don't catch some." 

Spock just waits.

"I dunno, I mean, we move around a lot. It kind of sucks, but it does have its upsides . . . " Faux father number three stuck at home, for instance. "I like seeing how other people live. It gives you an appreciation for your own culture. And it opens your eyes . . . like, you start to realize that your way isn't necessarily the only way or the best way or whatever."

"You are a cosmopolitan," Spock says, which is a bit redundant, and it doesn't seem as though he's struggling to understand—therefore Kirk can only assume that Spock might possibly be attempting to flirt.

Kirk sets his smile to simmering. "Sure am, Spock . . ."

Spock doesn't move for a minute, which Kirk decides is as close to a leer as he's likely to get. "I believe that I would benefit greatly from first-hand experience with other cultures. I look forward to eventually studying them at the Science Academy, should I be accepted."

Kirk rolls his eyes. "Soil samples and categorizing—it's basically a data entry job, Spock. Don't you feel like you were meant for something better?"

"Explain."

Kirk sighs. "I don't know, I'm just saying. You should do what you want."

"I would not say 'should', Mr. Kirk, for very often what one 'should' do and what one 'wants' to do are very much at odds, and I do not relish the idea of erring on the side of 'wanting'."

Kirk laughs. "You are something else. Unless I miss my guess, you seemed pretty enthusiastic about what you wanted to do with _me_ . . . "

"That is a human biological function that needs to be fulfilled. 'Need', not the more elective 'want' ."

Kirk stands, which puts him rather close to Spock. Murmurs, "I've gotta admit—I have trouble differentiating between the two myself."

Spock clears his throat. "Furthermore, there is something of an expectation that I attend the Academy. My father is . . . it is difficult for an outsider to understand."

"Why? You think that'll win his approval? News flash: everyone spends their lives trying not to have a destiny, and failing."

*

Spock is staring at him, hands clasped behind his back while the oppressive silence of the cave closes in on them.

Kirk gives what he hopes is an easy laugh. " _So_ -o . . ."

"You require further instruction?" Spock prompts, and the open-endedness of that surprises a smile out of Kirk. The not-so-open-endedness in Spock's eyes emboldens him.

Kirk saunters closer as alluringly as possible, tripping over an errant rock but it's okay because he turns it all into a sexy dance. "Why . . . yes I do," Kirk says, sotto voce.

"Very well." Spock doesn't bat an eyelash. "I believe the best course of action will be to begin with the sections we have not yet covered." 

Kirk fights the urge to bash his head against the nearest rock. His seductive smile tightens.

But Spock reaches out to capture Kirk's hand, then, and the touch of fingers is lazy but stark with significance, this spark of potential. "Oh," Kirk says dumbly as Spock closes in. Then, " _Oh_ . . ."

And hand-holding is all well and good, but Spock is awfully adept with his tongue, licking into Kirk's mouth all of a sudden and sending a lovely shock of arousal straight to Kirk's cock.

Kirk hums appreciatively and disentangles their fingers so he can trail them up Spock's chest, over neck and past ears to catch in his hair while the kiss deepens.

Kirk begins to feel dizzy, then realizes it might have to do with the way Spock is currently backing him up against an uneven stone wall to hold him there, possessive . . .

"Mr Kirk . . ." Spock begins.

"You know my name," Kirk points out.

"Although I am at a loss to understand why, nevertheless the fact remains that I find this activity most compelling. To be quite frank, I am constantly plagued by similar such impulses, which I can only assume are an unfortunate byproduct of my human heritage."

And Kirk gets that feeling of being an outsider, of nobody understanding and the inability to find a guide book to the way you are no matter how smart you are or how much you accomplish or show off. Kirk also gets teenage hormones, though, so he lunges into another wonderfully messy kiss.

Spock seems grateful, kisses back and presses Kirk's wrists into the rock and _fuck_ that is hot. It's always the quiet ones, huh? Spock's pressing so close to him now that Kirk can tell he must agree that it's hot. They struggle against each other against the wall amid the slippery cling of lips for quite awhile.

Spock breaks the kiss. "What do I . . ."

"Just do whatever feels good," Kirk gasps to his chin. He manages to wriggle his hand between them to press up against Spock's groin. "Like so."

Spock's eyes widen, which is so dramatic for him that Kirk laughs. 

"Feels good?" Kirk asks, pretty sure he knows the answer. He traces the outline of Spock's cock through his trousers and delights in the stuttering gasp it elicits.

Spock is so malleable—gone is the tension in his bearing, the control in his face—so Kirk capitalizes on this while he can, pushes Spock down on a nearby rock, sits beside him and quells any protests by sucking at Spock's neck and making quick work of his trousers. Kirk finds the throb of Spock's pulse with his tongue right around the time he wraps his hand around Spock's cock. Kirk's barely found a rhythm when Spock's hands grapple with his trousers, slide deftly past underwear to take hold of Kirk's cock, too.

"Ohshit," Kirk gasps, glances rapidly between Spock's face and the hand he's got around him, overheats at the sight and the feel. Spock pumps his hand up and down just once, seeks Kirk's mouth for a kiss and seems to have linked into Kirk's thoughts somehow because he's jerking his cock rather ideally, now, just enough but not too much and the way he twists on the upstroke is heaven.

This sexual delay to Kirk's tutoring isn't a problem— really it isn't. It's not like the school has some kind of timeline or curriculum that Kirk's got to follow, not like schools back home, anyway. The Vulcans seemed to rely solely on their inherent sense of duty or thirst for knowledge or whatever to maintain order. And yeah, Kirk was just egotistical enough to fit in in that respect, but _he_ didn't care about what Vulcans thought of him, so that wasn't much incentive. Kirk could take the exam whenever he wanted to, really, no rush . . .

"Mr Kirk?"

"I have ADHD," Kirk says by way of apology.

"You do not seem particularly deficient in . . . attention."

"Well, it only rears its ugly head when there's nothing worth paying attention to, and at the moment—" He gives Spock's cock an emphatic tug, captivated by his involuntary gasp. "—there is . . ."

Spock tightens his grip on Kirk in return, free hand clenching and releasing at his side and eyes closed as if to ignore the pleasure as much as possible. Kirk nudges his downturned face until he can kiss him, gets vague breathy presses of lips in response. Kirk's about to say, _Harder, God come on . . ._ but Spock's complying before he's even finished his thought, moans into his mouth and jerks Spock faster as orgasm approaches. He seems to hear a nonspecific request from Spock, seems to know intrinsically, _More_ , so he pumps Spock's cock faster and pants at the friction of Spock's hand on him and can't even tell he's come until after Spock's followed soon thereafter with a tight, shuddering exhale.

After long breathless moments on the unforgiving, dusty ground, Spock says: "Perhaps we should make an effort to concentrate on your tutoring," 

"I for one am awfully satisfied with that last session . . ."

"Jim. That is not what I was referring to."

Kirk perks right up. "Knew you knew my name."

Spock isn't amused.

Kirk sighs. "Oh fine, listen, I don't really need tutoring. I could pass if I wanted to, but I don't care enough to actually try—I'm pretty sure the credits aren't gonna transfer if I go to an Earth school next. In fact, I don't even know where I'll end up next, so I guess I just don't see the point in being a perfect little student if I'm uprooted again next week."

Spock doesn't look so disapproving, now. Looks suspiciously empathic. This could just be an illusion caused by his mussed up hair, his unconsciously parted lips. 

"But seriously, it's cool, I have a plan to beat level seven. It's not an issue."

"You are not as unintelligent as you appear to be," Spock allows.

Kirk smiles. "I'll take that as a compliment."

*

"That is not a valid entry."

"I'll rip you a brand new valid entry if you don't listen up."

The walls of the learning pod flicker in distress. "I'm really sorry about this, but I'm unable to process your request. Can you try again later?"

"I really can't," Kirk says. "Listen. I still haven't passed level seven, right?"

"Student: Kirk, James T. Current education level: seven."

"Yes, I'm well aware. What level are the other students on?"

"Average education level for students within your age group is education level nine."

"And what is the difference between the other students and me?"

"You are human."

"Well, it isn't really fair to evaluate my rate of progress on the same scale, is it? It isn't _logical_." If Vulcans made their computers anything like themselves . . .

"Your species is irrelevant. You are not being measured against other students, only against the education program. You may not advance to level eight until you have successfully completed level seven."

Kirk taps his foot. "State your prime directive." 

"I am a learning pod. I teach the data from the education program."

"You have failed to teach this student successfully."

"You are human. Your intellectual capabilities are deficient."

"Yes. So why haven't you been able to teach an intellectually deficient human? You've been able to teach far more mentally advanced students."

". . . . Working . . ."

"As an educator, you should be able to adapt to the student, right?"

"Insufficient data," it tells him.

"You are _not_ a teacher because you have failed to teach me. You cannot execute your prime directive; therefore you are not a teacher."

"Insufficient data," it repeats, less confidently this time.

"You are not a learning pod. You cannot exist because you are unable to perform your function. There is no purpose to your existence."

" . . . Working . . . _Working_. . ."

Kirk smiles fondly around at the short-circuiting walls.

As he walks down the corridor, pod sparking alarmingly in the background, he can feel the eyes of the Vulcan students, disturbed from their little mental palaces by Kirk's suicidal pod.

". . . Humans are a regrettably violent species," one of them says after a minute. He sounds a bit shaken.

Another peers cautiously up above the lid of his pod. "Indeed, Savok."

A third pops up to exchange glances with the others and say, shakily, "A most logical assessment, Savok."

*

"What's a Vulcan like you doing in a place like this?"

". . . Eating."

"I know what you're thinking," Kirk says, sitting down next to Spock at the lunch table.

Spock frowns. "You are not a telepathic species . . ."

"You're thinking—well, this obnoxious human no longer needs my Vulcan . . ." Kirk can't not give him a once over. " _Expertise_. So when will we see each other?"

"You are now on level eight, correct?"

"Yes."

Spock nods. "Then surely you will need further instruction on the new material," he says reasonably.

Kirk feels a smile coming on. "Of course, Mr Spock."

*


End file.
